Everything is Blue
by CrazyHat
Summary: Can't a recovering dust addict get some peace and quiet for once.


"It's blue, man. That's what I saw so that's what I told and keep telling you. It's blue." I know it. I know for sure it was blue. Couldn't have been any other color-not with the way it looked. I don't make mistakes—not when it comes to stuff like this.

"Professor Goodwitch and I understand that, Vander. You have made that plenty clear. What I am asking you is, what do you mean by that?

No, no, no. If you had to ask, then you wouldn't have gotten it. It's always like this whenever I open my mouth. Always frustrating for me and confusing for them. "You're not getting me. Not even trying to. It's Blue! Not red, not green, not even yellow. It's Blue! What more do I have to say for you to leave me alone?"

I made it clear, said it a thousand times over. It's just not enough for them. It never is.

Just let me go. I have things to do…stuff to organize and prepare for. I'm expecting some new additions to my figurine collection. And, and, I'm starting to feel hot. Stuffy. Like the air is trying to choke me. I'm not good with this kind of stuff, all the yelling, questioning, and yelling—oh, I already said that. Can't stand the looks. Should've stayed home and called mom's bluff. No way she would've kicked me out. I'm her only son.

I'll talk to her after this. Promise to try harder and even get a job. Wilson's been looking for someone to help with his chickens anyways. She'll have to take me back when she sees that I'm putting in effort.

I'm a changed man, _ma!_

"Vander, it's important. We wouldn't have asked you if it wasn't." I really hate the way he's looking at me. Getting all serious with me thinking that just because you lowered the pitch of your voice, made some awkward and somewhat endearing eye contact, and dropped the flowery sentences you loved so much, that I would magically cave in and shower you with answers I don't have. Why bother pinning your hopes on the person you can't even hope to understand?

"Is it good, Vander? Is it bad? Tells us what you saw."

"You're being stupid—really, really stupid." Not gonna bother with formalities. I can't. I just want this to end. "It's not good or bad. It just is what it is. It's both the past and the future—the accumulation of them all. What he has, the thing he's caring, is special. Not only to him, but to others. And from the traces I've seen, the slight flickering going on in the other student's weapons, I can tell they're connected." It's confusing. Scary. And a bit telling that it's not the first one I've seen since coming here.

So don't look at me like that. Pinning your hopes on me like I'm some kind of eight ball that you could just shake or intimidate into giving you what you want. I'm a human, damnit! Getting all wrapped up into the extraordinary and having to deal with things way above what I care to bother myself with.

"I see." Stop lying. Fuck. I hate that shit. No one gets it. Acting all high and mighty just cause you're a few decades older. I'm losing it. Can't stand sitting in this chair. Can't stand feeling uncomfortable with my own body because of Mrs. Badbitch glaring at me like I'm some kind of unruly schoolboy that she needs to punish. Need to breathe. Need to breathe. Air. Also need to stop squirming in this tiny chair like a damn worm. You'd think Beacon Academy would have some decent chairs with a bit of back support with the amount of resources Vale must've pumped into them.

Did I mention it's really hot in here? I'm going to pass out. I just know it.

"Mr. Vander."

Vander? Sounds familiar? Don't recall meeting a Vander here. I would've known if that were the case. I mean that's my name after all.

"Mr. Vander."

Did I forget my textbooks in Professor Oobleck's class? I can't feel-I mean see them. It should be around here. I mean I came in with them. I think I did. Oh man, I really don't want to play for a new textbook. I…I, oh boy, I feel really hot right about now. But I can make it pass a semester without a book. I've done it before. Forgot my textbook in the classroom on the day it was assigned and by the time I realized it got mixed in with all the ones that were unassigned, or it got assigned to another student. So the book got double-booked. And I, as a result, was shit out of luck. Definetly don't want a repeat of that. Hopefully Oobleck class is—

"Mr. Vander!"

I bet she secretly loves to hear the sound of her voice. Have I mentioned I feel really, really sick? Like almost to the point of throwing up. Got that queasy feeling in my stomach that almost makes the lower portion of my body feel light—but not the good kind. Like a pseudo sort-of lightness that feels terrible. A phony. A big fat phony.

"For the last time, Mr. Vander!-"

No way. With all the shit you just put me through, no way in hell you're going to be the one to get all pissy. I've been patient. I listened to the headmaster's mediocre speech. Answered a few questions—not my fault you're not trying to understand what I'm saying. Can't say it I didn't try. Because I did. Even if I didn't want to.

"Can I go now?" In and out. That's what I was promised. Not a game of 20 questions with two people I wouldn't care to hang around in my free time.

"Now listen here—". And there we go, right on cue. Realized that you're not getting what I'm putting down so now you're getting frustrated…angry even. I knew it. It always happens. Still annoying, though. I can see her brows starting to crease, nasally voice sinking to a low and serious tone. God, if only she just shut up, she'd be a lot more bearable to be around.

"Now, now, Glynda. The boy has obviously made his objections clear."

Thank yo—

"Let's change our approach, shall we?" God damnit. One more and that's it. Just one. After this, I'm storming out and never looking back. Déjà vu. A truckload of déjà vu. Said the same thing after I decided to clean up my act and start attending DA meetings.

Twenty months clean. Got a pretty neat coin out the deal. And there's no way I'm going back all cause some old guy with a limp starts asking questions.

"What does the color blue mean to you, Vander?"

It's terrifying. An oddity that doesn't deserve to exist. Something far too telling of the depths humanity had managed to coax from one another. Or so I've been told.

"Ask Jaune. It's his weapon." I learned decently early in life that it wasn't worth it to talk about someone—or their weapon—behind their back. No worth, no gain, just a fistful of headaches. Definitely not a convenient excuse to make them drop this charade of a friendly back-and-forth.

Ozzy hummed, folding his hands into a makeshift pyramid.

Have to give kudos to where it's deserved. Ozpin handled the 'fuck off' decently well, ranking in an admirable third among the people I've had the privilege of bestowing upon. Glynda on the other hand…Fuming. Absolutely fuming.

"Humor me." He curled his lips into a thin smile.

"Alright, yeah. I can do that. Whatever I see in Jaune's weapon, multiple by it by 10 or 100—I'm not good at math—and you have whatever the fuck you're always carrying around with you. That cane you have, it's radiating blue. It's like a damn generator. What the fuck did you do to it, old man? What did you do to yourself?"

Pretending to ignore the stony silence that followed would've been the classy thing to do. But for an antisocial, antihuntsmen, antiprettymucheverything, teenager like me, I did the first thing that came to my mind.

I yeeted the fuck out of there.


End file.
